


i'm a fool to want you

by yourhoshinthesky



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Denial of Feelings, Internal Monologue, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, One-Sided Attraction, POV First Person, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29777604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourhoshinthesky/pseuds/yourhoshinthesky
Summary: A lot of times, I try to think what was more stupid: to have kept these feelings for so long, or to have let go of them earlier?
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2
Collections: Haikyuu Writer Jukebox Round One - Mitski





	i'm a fool to want you

**Author's Note:**

> This is my official entry to the Haikyuu Writer Jukebox!
> 
> If it's not obvious, the song I claimed is Mitski's I'm a Fool to Want You. Haha, I should really think of better titles next time. THIS IS NOT BETA'D DSKDLS but I do hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

I think I’ve never messed up my whole life. I always knew the right answers and the right decisions to make when I’m in a situation where I have to choose under pressure. People would tell me it was a blessing by the gods for having this ability, although I would wave it all away because it wasn’t really much; I just knew what felt right and I stick with it. I would think, though, that it’s a little too much for people to label as calm and collected because there really was one moment in my life where I was really shaken.

If I were to talk about that, I would want to go back to the very beginning.

I was fifteen and it was during the spring high tournament. I decided to go and witness the matches in person for the first time because I wanted to finally decide what school I wanted to apply to. I had Fukurodani and Suzumeoka as my two choices.

I can still remember perfectly, how my eyes were glued onto that one player. This certain spike from a certain someone clad in Fukurodani’s jersey, the moment he jumped made me reckon a gust of wind blowing through my face. Time didn’t stop, but he stayed long enough midair for me to believe that he flew up there. From my peripheral vision, the angle of the spotlights was able to capture his body perfectly, and for that moment I thought he was like a star.

Everything turned slow motion by then as my eyes could follow the ball’s movement in ease, the way it made its way to the spiker’s hand as if he willed for it to be at that exact spot where his hand could reach accurately. His arm swung, palm now in contact with the ball, and in the blink of an eye, time seemed to start moving normally again as I failed to follow where it had gone, all I knew was that the ball landed inside the enemy court, and it was one more point for Fukurodani.

I still remember how the wing spiker smiled. Grinned, perhaps. A grin big enough for me to see those pearly white teeth of his even from afar. He shouted “Hey, hey, hey!” loud enough as if he was a human megaphone. He had silver locks with a touch of black streaks, his eyes had a shade of what I believe could be close to molten gold. Rare and of value. These features, I somewhat unconsciously took note of until my debut as a high school student came.

And so I learned his name was Bokuto Koutarou. He was quite different from what I had pictured him from last year’s tournament. Bokuto-san was loud and cheerful. I’d like to believe he’s the reason the team has so much life.

But akin to his playful and happy personality is one messy, messy, Bokuto-san.

His mood changes and his inconsistent nature gives him slumps during in-game. People tend to tread carefully around him, most especially in matches in order to avoid him becoming a sudden liability to the team’s performance. Most of our teammates would ignore it whenever he becomes down, they were so used to this cycle that they never thought of finding a way to break it. I think this was the reason why Bokuto-san was mostly benched last year.

But he was a star. I believed that he could be one of the best if only people could see him as more than just an extra outside hitter. And it was by then I decided that I wanted people to see his potential.

I got close to Bokuto-san at some point during my first year, I came to learn of all these possible instances that could shift his mood and thought of ways I could avoid him from continuously going into the slump. He’s a little bit—no, more like a lot—of an attention seeker and would always crave validation from our teammates. There were 37 ways in total that could help tend his mood, and I was able to note all that because, for some apparent reason, Bokuto-san liked it when I set the ball to him.

I didn’t know if it was my responsibility to keep him in check, or was it just my nature of habit to always find solutions through every problem that may occur, but I spent one whole year getting to know Bokuto-san that I somehow grew fond of him in some way.

Seventeen. I still haven’t gotten used to giving Bokuto-san the perfect set that could avoid him from possibly switching his mood, but every time I do, he always made me feel like I was the best setter in Tokyo. Or something like that. I liked the way his eyes would glow golden, a little shade lighter than the usual color of his irises and he would yell out my name and offer a high five—take note, enthusiastically. I don’t usually give back the same energy as he does, but I do like to give back the high five most of the time.

I look composed most of the time but it does not necessarily mean I find situations where people are overly happy unnecessary or a waste of energy. I just prefer watching them celebrate from the sidelines. Maybe it’s true that I’m too calm. But I really do enjoy watching people from the shadows—

Especially having a glimpse of Bokuto-san’s grin.

I really have no idea how I became enamored over that smile of his. At some point I find myself searching for it, not the usual smiles he gives out on a daily basis, but that smile he does whenever he does a winning spike, or when he thinks I just gave him an amazing set. Those kinds of smiles fit Bokuto-san the best, the most genuine, and the most happy.

There was this one occasion—it was a weekend and I found myself waking up at 9 AM from my phone’s constant ringing. I answered it groggily without thinking of checking who it was, and I was immediately woken up by the sound of the cheery Bokuto-san’s voice.

“Akaashi!”

“Bokuto-san,” I remember trying to mask the whiny tone out of my voice because I initially planned to wake up a little later than this. “Is there something the matter?”

There was never a time that Bokuto-san had lowered his voice when starting up his stories. He always seemed so excited to talk about it, and the way he speaks a little too fast requires you to focus just so you could understand because, at some point in his story, he tends to forget how he narrated it.

“So I thought maybe I could ask you out we could do a few set of spiking.”

It’s a weekend and he still thinks about volleyball, I sighed.

It was actually easy to have said no, but I didn’t know what prompted me to accept his invitation; maybe I thought his silly and loud nature could get him into trouble so I _felt_ the need to go.

Or maybe I just liked his company. I didn’t really know which it was until a few years later.

I wasn’t very honest with my feelings back then.

“Alright!” I heard him exclaim through the other line. “Let’s meet up in about an hour since I can hear that you just woke up. Sorry, Akaashi, thanks a lot!”

If I can recall, we literally just spent the whole afternoon doing sets and passing the ball. Bokuto-san would tell stories while we do so, which made it a little engaging and fun. He always knew how to make every story a little funny.

And this was actually the specific day where I first felt the sense of panic. Prior to meeting up with him, specifically, after the phone call was the time I first felt my heart race a little faster than usual. But extra dense seventeen-year-old Akaashi Keiji decided to set it all aside as if it was nothing.

Oh, what a dumbass.

Seventeen, again. During the usual yearly training camp with Nekoma and the other Tokyo teams, this year was a little special because they invited a new team outside of Tokyo. Karasuno. I remember specifically it was the last day of the training camp and we were all surprised with barbecue. Bokuto-san and Kuroo-san were some of the first people to sprint outside, with Hinata, Tanaka, and Nishinoya lagging behind them. I stood right next to Kenma who was sitting on the stairs next to the doorway and playing with his game. I watched from that angle as everyone fought every time food was being cooked from the barbecue.

“Hey, Akaashi,” Kenma called for my name in the most hushed tone. I looked at him and he never moved his eyes away from his game. “What do you think about Bokuto-san?”

And there it was again. I didn’t give it much thought back then, but my heart did those large leaps in a quick pace of up and down when I heard his name. “What do you mean what do I think?”

Kenma rolled his eyes slightly as if I wasn’t going to catch him doing so. Unfortunately for him, I did, and it made me scrunch my nose a little, perplexed.

“I just notice,” he muttered.

“Notice what,” I retorted, still confused (at that time). “It’s nothing different from what you and Kuroo-san have.”

Kenma hums as if he was expecting that answer from me. He did a quick glance at me, and then over to where Kuroo-san and Bokuto-san were. A small smile appeared on his lips. “That’s the point. It’s nothing different from what Kuro and I have.”

“Kenma!” As if on cue, Kuroo-san came running up to us with Bokuto-san lagging behind. “What are you doing sitting there playing games? I told you to eat more, didn’t I!?”

Kenma rolls his eyes at him but never looking away from his game. Kuroo-san took the plate of meat from Bokuto-san and snatched Kenma’s PSP, tucking it in his back pocket. I saw Bokuto-san give him a glare before marching back to the barbecue to get some more.

Kuroo-san began lecturing Kenma about the meat being good for him, or something. It sounded a little too sciency for me to understand, so I watched our precious Fukurodani captain fight over some meat with Tanaka and Nishinoya instead.

Although I did glance back a few times to see how Kenma reacted, and every time, I always see him give Kuroo (who was now doing very, very exaggerated hand gestures and talking about protein and healthy eating, and the like) a small smile.

 _What Kuro and I have_.

I was now eighteen when Bokuto-san left for college. Thankfully, he never forgets to keep in touch—which wasn’t very good for my heart but anyways… It took me quite a while to get used to not calling him during a game. Every time I have to set the ball I was so used to sending most of them to Bokuto-san, especially when things were a little difficult and we needed to get that point. I remember the first few practice matches at the start of the year, I called for him multiple times and I was benched for messing up the game. Said I should cool my head or something, that I was missing him too much.

They weren’t lying. I missed him. Even though I was well aware he’s not a part of the team anymore, that he’s in university playing for a different team, I can’t stop calling his name every time I set the ball. I just can’t.

For two years it has always been me and Bokuto-san, and it hurts a bit to know he isn’t here anymore.

_“Akaashi.”_

Although, it gives me a bit of relief to hear his voice even through calls. Bokuto-san asked for the whole team’s numbers and made it a promise that he would always check up on us every once in a while. We had a routine ever since he started uni; it was during Fridays, 8 PM, usually we would go on till midnight—but it was always just him telling his stories and me humming in response, nodding as if he could see me.

“During my first practice, I accidentally shouted your name when I asked for the ball,” Bokuto-san’s voice was a little more soft than usual, I could feel the slight chagrin from the tone of his voice. He followed on with a chuckle. “I really missed the team. I missed your sets!”

I didn’t know what came over me, but I felt tears run down my face and I couldn’t speak for a few seconds. Bokuto-san noticed that and called for my name multiple times from the other line.

“No,” I tried not to let my voice crack. “I’m fine. Don’t cause trouble to your new team,” _I won’t be there to check on you anymore_.

“I miss you too, Bokuto-san.”

I stopped doing volleyball when I entered university. My calls with Bokuto-san slowly diminished at that same time, but I would go to his games and watch him play whenever I was free. I was twenty when I was able to actually see him again in person, close enough to actually talk to him. Kuroo-san invited us to his apartment one random night, and I, being the typical stressed college student, wanted to drink my academic woes away.

I entered his apartment and was welcomed with a Kozume Kenma playing his console on the television. I heard him welcome me in his usual hushed voice and made my way inside. Kuroo-san’s head popped out of the doorway to the kitchen.

“Akaashi, hey there!” He let out a hand (holding a big bowl) to wave at me. “Just fixing a few things here before we put everything out, give us a few more minutes!”

I gave him a nod before he disappeared and there were very, very concerning sounds coming from the kitchen that made me glance over from time to time, although I couldn’t really see it from where I was sitting at.

“Don’t worry,” Kenma says, as if he read my mind, “Kuro knows what he’s doing. It’s Bokuto-san that’s making a mess of our apartment.” And as if on cue, Kuroo-san yelled Bokuto-san’s name.

My heart skipped when I heard his voice.

“Wait, did you just say _our_ apartment?”

“If you’re asking if I finally yolo’d and confessed my undying love to Kuro, yes, he’s my boyfriend now,” Kenma said that almost nonchalantly that for a second I thought he was joking. “I wonder how it’s going at _your_ side.”

I heard him let out a small snicker and I felt offended—even though I have no idea at that time why. He looked at me for a moment and examined my features, and then he couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“God, the way you look so offended but couldn’t speak says a lot about how contradicting you are,” he moved his attention back to the television screen and added: “So you still haven’t figured it out.”

I stay silent in hopes that, maybe, Kenma would explain it more clearly again. But instead, I hear him mutter something about how I was dense.

“Akaashi, you know,” Kenma starts and I suddenly look at him. “You know exactly what to do when it’s just Bokuto Koutarou, wing spiker, and Akaashi Keiji, setter. But when it’s just Bokuto and Akaashi, I reckon you go into panic mode but you try your best not to let anybody notice. But I do,” He sighs, “I notice the slightest shift of your facial expression as if you’re trying so hard what the right thing to say is. You play with your fingers a little more than usual, and you try—but you can’t—to hide a smile every time Bokuto-san says something you think was funny. Even if I think his jokes sound a little bit cheesy sometimes.”

If I were to be honest, that was the longest time Kenma has ever spoken his thoughts about something to me. I was astonished and yet at the same time confused. Did it really seem like that to him? I felt my heart race again, and all I could do was stay silent the whole time. I heard Kuroo-san call for Kenma, Kenma stood up and patted my shoulders.

When the food and drinks came, I couldn’t eat at ease knowing Bokuto-san was there. It wasn’t the same anymore.

The night went on, and because I didn’t drink as much as most of them did, they were all sprawled on the floor wasted, while I sat and enjoyed my glass. Bokuto-san’s head was on the table, mumbling words I couldn’t comprehend, it seemed like he was having a dream. The ends of my lips made a small smile as I brushed my fingers on the strands of his hair, tucking them away from his face.

“Bokuto-san,” I whisper unknowingly.

“Hmmm,” he mumbles.

“Maybe, I kind of,” I paused for a moment deciding if this was the right thing to do. But then I didn’t really have anything or any time to think at all since I was a bit tipsy.

“Like you.”

“I promise I’ll be right back, thank you so much, Keiji!”

Twenty-seven. Present. Kuroo-san’s older sister asked me to watch her flower shop while she runs out for an errand. I was casually walking back to my apartment from the convenience store when Kuroo’s car stopped right next to me. Then came out his sister who was coincidentally the store right in front of me.

I sighed. I sat down on the chair and rested my elbows on the table, my chin propped on the back of my hands. I don’t have to do a lot of things besides looking over the cash register and inquiring about payments since there was another worker that helps assist Kuroo-san.

Whenever a customer arrives, the bell attached to the door would ring. I pay no attention to it at all since it’s the assistant’s job to entertain customers about the flowers. But when the customer’s voice rang in my ears, my head shot up and my eyes came looking for the owner of that voice.

And all I could do was stare at him. My lips couldn’t help but smile at the man a few inches away from me. He possessed the same features he had the first time I met him. His voice could still make my heart do gymnastics, and his eyes—god, his eyes still had that same glint of shine.

He turned over and our eyes met. He smiled. My heart exploded.

“Akaashi,” good lord, his voice was not helping.

I smiled a smile that was a little wider than usual. “Bokuto-san.”

“You work here? Isn’t this Kuroo nee-san’s flower shop?”

“No, no!” The sound of my voice sounded a little more happy than usual, I wonder if he notices that? “Something came up all of a sudden as I was passing by, so I was asked to look out for the shop for a while.”

Our conversation was cut short after the employee called for his attention about the flowers he was going to buy. I wondered for a moment to whom he was going to give them to, but I quickly set the thought aside. I was too busy watching Bokuto-san—I can’t believe I still like him after all these years.

He looked over me and waved. I waved back to let him know I saw him, and then he gestured out about inviting me over to drink. “After nee-san comes back?” He added.

I smiled and nodded.

I was twenty-three when I went out to watch the V. League with my high school teammates. Bokuto-san had taken volleyball professionally after being scouted back at uni, and since then we didn’t have a lot of time to catch up, but I do see him on television a lot. And in posters. He really came a long way. I always knew he would.

It has been specifically three years since I last saw him in person. The last being the drink I had with them at Kuroo-san and Kenma’s apartment. I still think up to this day if he ever heard me that time.

Kenma arrives and quickly sat next to me the moment he saw me. Instead of greeting me back with a _hello_ , he asks: “So, how’s _your_ end?”

“Seriously,” I let out a laugh, “Is this the only thing you will ever ask me every time we see each other again?”

“Well, I don’t text you about it. So might as well ask in person,” he retorted, making me laugh a little more.

“I mean,” I shrugged, “I knew about it all this time.”

Kenma lets out a triumphant smirk but tries not to make it look obvious. “I just,” I continued, “I guess was aware that maybe I won’t have a chance, so I unconsciously pretend I never harbored those feelings.”

“Because?”

“It’s stupid to be feeling in love with someone who might not feel the same way?” I sighed. “Kenma, he’s Bokuto Koutarou of Black Jackals. I’m just Akaashi—”

“Akaashi Keiji,” he looked at me all of a sudden so seriously. “Bokuto-san’s favorite setter.”

The loudspeaker suddenly cuts us off as the voice introduces the Black Jackals. The double doors open, and the very first players you will see running out were Hinata and Bokuto-san. I smiled upon seeing him, and I wasn’t sure if our eyes met when he whipped his head over to look over to our side, but I’d like to think so.

Kenma looks at me and then sighs, propping his cheek in the palm of his hand. “Let’s bet, if Bokuto-san doesn’t like you back, you treat me out for whatever I might be craving for the day.”

“Jokes on you, Kenma. I might never even know how he feels about me.” I reply.

“Lame. You’re so lame, Akaashi Keiji.”

I hand over Bokuto-san’s drink and then sat down at the chair across him. He thanked me with a big grin and I couldn’t help but smile back. Then, he started telling me stories about how he was doing so far, and all I could do was nod at every single detail. I just hope he doesn’t notice that I was too busy at staring at his face that I wasn’t able to understand anything that he was saying.

Honestly, I feel so stupid to still be liking him like this. At some point, I have to ask myself what was it that kept me from still harboring all these feelings for him, when I will never even take the step to tell him all this.

My smile fades when Bokuto-san starts rummaging his phone in his pocket. I didn’t understand why, but I felt as if it wasn’t a good feeling. The moment he picks it up, he shows me his lock screen picture of him and Tsukishima together.

My eyes felt a little wet but I smiled at him again. Then he starts talking about how they met at the same university. It was during his last year, he spent most of it with him, and he was actually the reason why Tsukishima continued volleyball after college as well. He said all those while playing with the plastic of the bouquet he was holding, then, he slipped out an envelope on his bag and placed it on the table. I didn’t have to ask what it was all about because I already knew.

I tried my best not to cry, but when I felt that I couldn’t keep the tears in anymore, my hand secretly searched for my phone in my bag and tapped to call Kenma while never looking away from Bokuto-san.

The call didn’t go through, and I was about to burst right then and there if he calls Tsukishima’s name one more time. I sighed and loosened the grip of my phone.

“Hey, Bokuto-san,” I said, almost muttering.

Bokuto-san tilted his head, “Hm? What is it, Akaashi?”

“Seven years ago…” I trailed off for a moment. “Did you hear it?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

Bokuto-san looked at me for a moment, the smile on his face disappearing. His eyes shifted away to look over the window, and with the most hushed voice, he said, “I’m sorry.”

My phone vibrated and I immediately picked it up.

“Hey,” Kenma’s voice resounds from the phone. “Never mind the bet. I’ll treat you this time.”

Sometimes I blame him for taking Bokuto-san away from me. But I do know very well, most of the time, that it was my fault for never making the move. A lot of times, I try to think what was more stupid: to have kept these feelings for so long, or to have let go of them earlier? Present me would say the latter could have been good, but loving Bokuto-san made my life a little brighter even though everything was unrequited.

After all, he was my star.

The double doors opened and we were met with the newly married Bokuto Koutarou and Tsukishima Kei. I stood from the crowd and clapped along with them as they walked out of the church together with the happiest faces. At this point, I’m just happy for them both.

Thank you so much, Bokuto-san. I loved you.


End file.
